Dancing with Death
by Mapping the Soul
Summary: Death can be quite charming, can't he? / M/M (if you squint) / Headcanon / Canonical Character Death


**Rating:** T

**Warning:** M/M | Headcanon

**Fandom:** K Project

**Pairing/Relationship:** Suoh Mikoto/Totsuka Tatara

**Status:** Completed

**Author:** Mapping the Soul

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**Summary:** Death can be quite charming, can't he?

If you read, review and/or favourite, thank you!

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**Dancing with Death**

Mikoto's walk seems endless and he finds that he's a little startled. It's not as dark as he has imaged and there is nothing that jumps out at him either. Then again, who would, against the Red King? The Blue one maybe, but he's not here at the moment and he probably will not be. After all, this place feels like it is Mikoto's personal haven where no one will have access until he grants it.

It has been a few hours since he woke up and started on his stroll. Mikoto had found his shirt stained red but he doesn't feel any pain and there isn't a wound to see. He can't seem to remember much, but for some reason, the powers that he has failed to control have dispersed like clouds. He feels much lighter now, without the Sword of Damocles hanging above his head and he doesn't stop for a second to think about whose heart it has pierced.

The former Red King just wants to enjoy the lengthy walk. It is rare that he goes completely undisturbed and so the peace and the setting of dusk is endearing. He would have slept, but the chair that he woke up in is incredibly stiff and uncomfortable. Sleeping outside would have worked too, but the weather is a tad too chilly to do so. The wind continues to push him forward, although it is somewhat directionless.

He has ventured off far from the chair and in the process, ignored the broken camera that sat by his feet. The path that comes after the chair is empty and coloured in a dull grey. His current stop is a small park with a few swings swaying with the wind. Aside from the creaking of the metal chains, there is silence and not a soul in sight. However, when he concentrates, the park begins to fill, vivid with colour.

Mikoto can almost taste the rusty copper on the metal chains that is connected to the black rubber seating of the swings. The leaves that lead to the cycling path are a rich green and there are barks which are peeling off the trunk to show off their different shades. As lovely as it was, the park remains empty. Even if it is a projection from Mikoto's mind, none of the members of HOMRA are out to play.

Shoving his hands into his pocket, the former Red King moves on. He concludes that there is nothing to see but suddenly there is a rattling sound that makes him look at his surroundings again. When he looks down, Mikoto finds a set of three empty but unblemished cans. He knocks into them again, drawing out the rattling sound and leaving dents with little effort. It rings like bells next to his ears and shuffles along an old memory of red.

The former King is kicked by the memory of his first game. He didn't care for the cans at all. Izumo had been surprisingly easy to get. Catching Tatara was a little more difficult but that had relieved his boredom. Mikoto feels a hint of regret at the memory. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so rough about it. How many brain cells did he destroy? Did that—and all the other times—knock all of Tatara's sense out of him?

Sighing, Mikoto shakes his head of free of such thoughts. Tatara's sense had nothing to do with it. As the Red King, he had failed to protect. He clenches his fist together again and slowly uncurls his fingers. As he had expected, in this place, it doesn't burn. His hands remain as they were. However, as it has been for the past few weeks, there isn't a hand that catches his to stop him from actively destroying.

The flames that Mikoto attempts to summon do not show. Uncurling his fingers again, the former King lights a smoke with the lighter he finds in his pocket. Mikoto leaves the park behind and looks for something distracting in the environment that has, once again, turned grey. The walk is long but he ends up on a highway that slowly shows its colours. The road remains a dull grey but the white road markings seep through and acts as a guide. A poor one, Mikoto concludes as he continues to walk straight.

There's a clinking and clonking sound that follows him but when he turns around, the road is empty. Suddenly he remembers the incident with Basashi and he holds his gaze a little longer. Mikoto feels as though there is a glimpse of Anna's well hidden smile but he ends up staring at nothing but air.

Annoyed now, Mikoto keeps his gaze on the white line and follows it as he walks. Mentally, he hopes to find a place that will allow him some sleep but the highway is another endless route. When the former King finally looks up to check his progress, the scenery before him changes and he is abruptly wrapped within a hill of an endless pale green. The grass rustles in complaint under his feet as he waltzes forward.

As he continues his stroll downhill, he spots some more grey—shiny this time. Upon closer inspection, he finds another set of three. This time it is bicycles and they are scattered haphazardly on the hill. The distance between them is uneven and the last bike is just hanging at the edge. When he gets about three meters away, a strong wind brushes by and sends the third bicycle off the hill and into the water with a loud splash.

It takes a while longer this time, but eventually the memory comes rolling back. If he is correct, this is the hill where the three of them tried out the little test of courage. Mikoto remembers having plenty but of course, at a cost. It is a reflective event, Mikoto decides with a sigh. The former Red King finds himself wondering what may have happened if he had taken in his surroundings. At that moment though, Mikoto turns back abruptly, hoping to find an exit. This isn't the kind of haven that he wants.

There exit is nowhere to be seen. Eventually, Mikoto realises that he isn't treading lightly on grass anymore but is instead, trudging through sand. It is way past dusk and the moon and the stars are clearly reflected upon the water. However, every few seconds, the ripples and waves washes the image away. Heaving an exhausted sigh, Mikoto settles down on the sand to listen to the sound of the clashing waves.

He has had enough of the long walk and has gotten the point. Hoisting his neck with his arms, the former King stares up at the starry sky for a moment and then proceeds to shut his eyes. He will sleep some more if that's what it is going to take to be truly at peace. However, Mikoto only manages to close them. The waves are only soothing until the some off key singing begins to steal his attention.

It seems that this place isn't quiet fitting to be called Mikoto's haven. He doesn't understand why there's someone here, in his place, singing a terrible acoustic while using the sound of the waves as a gauge for tone. The former King screws his eyes shut again and hopes that it'll all drown out eventually. And as if obeying his wishes, the singing dies out and all he can hear is the soft sound of waves.

Mikoto exhales softly, content now to fall into a deep state of comatose but then, as if his conscience isn't satisfied yet, he is called.

"King!"

The former King forces himself to stay put. He has seen what can happen in his own mind and it's not always nice. Even though he no longer feels the weight of his powers, he can't help but worry, internally. After all, Mikoto has always been on the verge of losing control. He does not want to lose it again due to his inability. But his guilt continues to eat away at him, drawing closer and closer and surprisingly warmer than he remembers it being.

"_King!_"

"Hn…" grunts the former King.

His eyes darted easily from one corner to the other. There isn't enough light to require full adaptation but the voice though is more than enough to make him grimace. Mikoto's always gone with the flow, but just this once he feels like he should have taken time out to prepare a speech of some kind.

This is the first time that he's heard this voice. Usually in his dreams and in this case, haven, if that's what it is supposed to be, silence is a sure thing. Under all other circumstances, the former King has only seen his hands stained and trembling. The world around him is consumed in a flame of red and his company does not speak.

"K—"

"What are you doing here?" Mikoto questions once the body hovers over his line of vision and blocks the lights of the stars. Suddenly, the former King remembers that he's at the beach. "A ghost?"

Tatara smiles through his heart's shutter, "What are you talking about King?"

"Well…" Mikoto's voice dies out, but the sandy blonde catches on quickly.

"Not quite!" Tatara exclaims, undoing the frames, "It's more like the road home."

"Home?"

Tatara is as usual, cheery and bright. He uses big gestures to answer Mikoto's query. Mikoto frowns upon realising that Tatara is clearly portraying a crowded and loud place like HOMRA's headquarters. It's almost comical to see Tatara trying to air-skate and polish wineglasses. The sandy blonde even goes as far as jumping from one end to the other to portray the customary commotion that occurs every summer. Mikoto ends up scoffing in amusement.

It starts to make sense to him. He is now fully aware of what he has done and where he is. This place can be haven but Mikoto doesn't want one that's haunting. He can get to a better place. There's still a distance that he'll have to walk, but he knows that he will not have to do it alone. After all, Tatara has been waiting.

The sandy blonde presents a bright smile as he studies the former King's face. Guilt bites at him but conflict is something that he can do without. In this place and time, there is no going backwards. Tatara had expected to keep waiting. Seeing Mikoto here is a big surprise and that alone is enough to silence him.

There are a lot of things that Tatara wants to say. Most of them are complaints which he is sure that Mikoto has heard enough of. It did not come from the members of HOMRA but from somewhere deep inside, where it is clear that Mikoto cares. Tatara settles for the gentle words which he is famous for. After all, he is grateful for what Mikoto has done and these words will be the closest to the truth.

"I've missed you, King."

"Former," Mikoto corrects now that his memory has caught up.

Tatara attempts to show the perfected grin only to frown when he catches the gleam on Mikoto's left. It's the first time in a while that the sandy blonde feels like crying. It wasn't meant to be like this at all, Tatara frowns mentally. The sandy blonde had not meant to become a burden on Mikoto's life.

"That's enough, King," Tatara whispers affectionately, as he brushes his fingertips across the cartilage of Mikoto's ear, "It's enough now."

Mikoto leans into the light embrace, "Home then?"

"Yes," Tatara beams brightly, tossing all of his worries aside, "Let's go home."

The former Red King knows that it is the carefree personality that makes Tatara who he is, but the urge to throw a light punch at Tatara does not subside. Mikoto feels the need to warn him or knock some sense back into the sandy blonde. Therefore, he allows himself to fall back into the old habit and clenches his fist together. Tatara responds accordingly. As if nothing has changed, Tatara's hand catches his and wraps it in layers and layers of warmth. The touch burns a bright affectionate red, like HOMRA's flame, only this time it is calm and gentle, cradling and soothing.

_Fin._


End file.
